Tonight, over a disappointing and expensive tough steak dinner in the Navodes of Chillan, Tom and I were reminiscing about some great meals we have had on this trip, meals like last night in Pucon where we ate “sealed” tuna steak that turned out to be shown to the flame and delicious over a bed of perfect spinach, or a steak in Bariloche where the waiter cooked my half rare, then put Tom’s back on the grill for him (even though we were sharing the meal as we always do on the road). Or the rice risotto with local cheese and seafood—including the insides of some huge barnacles in Pucon or the razor clams at the country fair in Niebla—or the extraordinary birthday dinner at Don Julio’s fine restaurant in Buenos Aires with Judy, or the meat extravaganza at Des Nievels in BA. Or the incredibly thick, fine pizza with olives and mushrooms in Barrio Norte, BA where we had our apartment, or the ice cream from the place around the corner that tasted of lemons and fruits of the countryside. Or the frothy, chocolate mouse I shared with my Irish friend, Diedre, in Bariloche or the high tea at the Alvear Hotel in BA. And the wine, mostly red, all of it delicious and most of it fairly cheap.
And with that I will stop spilling wine on my iPad and go back to drinking it properly.